


Back To You Ficlet - The Question

by balfeheughlywed



Series: Back To You Ficlets [4]
Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:31:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balfeheughlywed/pseuds/balfeheughlywed
Summary: Jamie tries to decide how to propose to Claire.





	Back To You Ficlet - The Question

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the One Quote One Shot Book 2 challenge on tumblr. My quote is in bold within the story. :) Thank you for reading! XOXO.

Every day, the small, velvet box felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. 

Jamie had been carrying it around with him for weeks, afraid to leave it at home lest Claire stumble upon it somehow, ruining the surprise of his proposal, though what that proposal would be he still didn’t know. 

He had been thinking about it endlessly, to the point of distraction at work. He wanted the moment to be perfect, to make up for the less than perfect  _ (but perfect now) _ surprise of her pregnancy. The way she had been forced to tell him of it, and the hollow days that followed in the aftermath of her uncertainty still strangled him sometimes, the choking squeeze of what might not have been hitting him like a punch to the throat when he thought of it. 

But things were back to normal between them now. Claire’s morning sickness was easing up so the color was back in her cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes were disappearing. They had begun to plan and dream about the future, about a little baby boy or girl with red or brown curls and all that went with it.

Nursery designs and color schemes, cribs and strollers and swaddles. Claire had come home one night with two small pairs of footed pajamas, her cheeks pinking with something close to embarrassment when she told him she stopped into a boutique on her way home and simply  _ “couldn’t resist.” _ He had pulled out a tiny Scotland team rugby jersey in response, to his girlfriend’s delight. 

Yes, things were good  _ (more than good), _ but one thing still nagged at Jamie. 

She was still only his girlfriend. 

He wanted her to legally be his everything. 

So he started to think, to plan, to the point of obsession. 

He thought about taking her back to North Berwick, the site of their _not_ _first date _first date, to climb back up to the stone that implores people to Live in the Moment. He would get down on one knee and tell her the only moments he lives for are the ones with her.

But she was still in her first trimester and the thought of making her climb up a hill when she was still fighting exhaustion seemed unfair. 

Then he thought of planning a weekend getaway to the Isle of Skye, to rent a small cabin near the water where they could hide away together for days. They could lounge around together when they weren’t making love, and picnic together among the fairy pools. 

But it was still bone chillingly cold out, and a surprise romantic weekend away seemed like a giveaway that  _ something _ was up.

He debated taking her to the spot on campus where they had seen each other for the first time, when she had run right into him and worried she had broken her nose and he knew she was going to change his life. 

But he didn’t want to propose in front of random students and professors they didn’t know on their way to classes they were rushing to get to. 

So then he thought of the rugby stadium, that secret, sacred spot for them that had been a beginning and an end and a beginning all over again for them. 

Like the trip to Skye, it felt too obvious. 

So he kept thinking, rejecting ideas,  _ stewing _ over how to ask her to be his wife. 

But looking at her now, her hair a dark, tousled whirl against the warm flannel of their sheets, her cheeks and chest still flushed a rosy pink from the way they had just loved each other, he wondered why he thought the moment to ask her The Question had to be different, out of the ordinary. 

Every moment,  _ these _ moments with her, were extraordinary in their simplicity. 

The smell of the home cooked dinner he had made for them that evening  _ (sticky, warm rice, chicken, and vegetables to make sure Claire was getting the nutrients she and the baby needed) _ wafting in through their cracked bedroom door. It mixed with the scent of her light perfume and the lingering musk of  _ them. _

The muffled sounds of an abandoned episode of Peaky Blinders on the television in their living room, the show becoming an afterthought when their wandering hands and her giggles had led to something more, Jamie scooping her up from the couch and carrying her to their bedroom until their shared laughter had turned to moans. 

The neatly folded stack of laundry sitting on the end of their long dresser, waiting to be put away by whomever got around to doing it first  _ (she hated putting away laundry; he knew it would be him). _

The ring on his nightstand he pretended he didn’t see from a sweating glass of water Claire had left there after not using the coaster he always slid underneath her cups.

Her socks scattered on the floor from being plucked unceremoniously from her feet in the middle of the night when she got too warm from the flannel sheets she insisted on using. 

The way she would meet him in the hallway when he came home from work if she was there before him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she hugged him before leaning back to cup his cheeks and kiss him hello, her muffled greeting against his lips one of the best parts of his day. 

The way she made him feel. 

The way she loved him. 

The way he would never love anyone more than he loves her. 

It felt like the entire world was expanding and contracting down to only them at that moment.

As if she could read his thoughts, she turned and looked at him, the shine of her whisky eyes still slightly clouded over with the last trembling moments of her orgasm, her mouth  _ (swollen and sweet and honeyed from his own) _ curling up as they locked eyes. 

She was perfect. 

He was breathless. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, eyes quizzical and voice curious, one hand reaching out to slide along the muscle of his bicep, her fingers gliding up and down his skin, sending a delicious buzz through his body. 

He didn’t know where to begin. 

So he reached out and touched her again, the pad of his thumb brushing across the rounded apple of her cheek to the soft flesh of her earlobe, where he tucked a stray, wavy curl back before moving down her neck and across her collarbone. Goosebumps sprung up beneath his skin, her body curling closer to his as she melted into him. 

She was made for him. 

“This. You. **You never shrank from my touch,” he said, eyes intent on the path his finger took, dipping down to follow the curve of her breast. “Not even at the first, when ye might have done so, and no surprise to me if ye had. But you didn’t. You gave me everything from the very first time; held nothing back, denied me no part of you.”**

Her eyes narrowed slightly, like she was confused about where this was coming from. “You didn’t hold back from me, either,” she said quietly, her fingertips continuing to trace their own path along the dips of his shoulder and arm, her eyes locked on his. 

“I couldn’t,” he gave her an almost wry smile, his hand moving up to cup her cheek, his thumb pressing into her bottom lip, feeling the soft fullness of it beneath his skin. “Even if I had wanted to, and God kens I didn’t. It was like I knew right away ye were meant to be mine, and it didna matter what or who stood in my way, I was going to have ye. Sometimes… sometimes it feels like a dream still, the life we’ve been building together. Like I dinna deserve it, because I turned yer life upside down when we met. And look at all ye’ve given me.”

He reached down and covered her stomach with his hand, his palm spreading over the still flat stretch of skin that would soon begin to swell with their child. He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, blinking hard at the tears that were forming in the corners of his eyes. 

“You’ve given me the same. You make me  _ feel _ the same.”

His smile was crooked, that Scottish noise he made that he knew she loved rumbling from his chest. He knew the moment, the time for that most important question, was  _ now _ . “You’ve given me everything, Sassenach, but I do have to ask ye to give me one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

He disentangled himself from her with a kiss to her forehead, reaching behind him and pulling the black velvet box out from deep within his nightstand drawer where it was buried. He turned back to her, the box feeling fragile and daunting at the same time in his hand, her sharp inhale of breath the only sound in the room, the only sound in the universe. He held it out to her, his tear-filled eyes meeting her own. 

“I have been carrying this around with me for weeks, before we even left for Lallybroch. I took it with me when we went there, thinking if everything went how I hoped it would, I’d ask ye there, maybe in my Mam’s rose garden or in one of the fields that overlook the mountains. But then… with everything…” his voice faltered slightly before he carried on, “I had to wait and come up with another plan. I have thought of a million different ways to ask you this, but nothing felt special enough. I dinna ken if  _ this _ is the way ye dreamt of it happening, but…”

He paused, his mouth running dry as he opened up the box, his vision blurring slightly as he looked from the oval diamond  _ (sparkling and shiny and hers) _ back up to her face, the pure, unadulterated love he felt reflected right back at him. 

“Will ye give me your name, Sassenach, and take mine instead?”

The tears shimmering in her eyes began to fall then, her laughing sob filling the room before she pressed her body into his, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. She pressed her mouth firmly against his, her words a mumble against his lips. “Yes.” He could feel her trembling against him, her answer repeated between kisses. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He tried to pull back to look at her, but she wouldn’t let him, her hands holding his face against hers. “Sassenach… ye didn’t even look at the ring!” he managed to get out, which drew her up short. Her eyes met his, both of them letting out a breathless laugh as they looked at each other. He pushed back the hair that had stuck to her wet cheeks before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “I love kissing you, but I’d like to put this ring on yer finger before we continue. Make things official, ken?”

She bit down on her bottom lip, her smile so wide it looked like it could split her cheeks as she nodded eagerly. 

He slipped it into her left ring finger, his hand sure and steady as he watched it slide over her knuckle.

A perfect fit.

Just like them.

“My god, it’s so beautiful, Jamie,” she whispered, dragging her eyes up from her hand to meet his. Her next words nearly knocked him flat. “You’re going to be my husband.”

He felt his breath stutter, his hand coming up to curl over hers  _ (the one that wore his ring), _ bringing it up to his lips, kissing the diamond there and the promise it held. “And you’re going to be my wife. I love you, soon to be Claire Fraser.”

He had never seen a smile so beautiful. “I love you, too, James Fraser.”


End file.
